Riddle Me This
by xPerceiveTheTruthx
Summary: Let's take a trip back to a certain orphanage in the 1920's to hear a very special story from a boy dressed in black. This is the entire life of one Tom Riddle and how in the space of just sixteen years, he became a cold blooded killer.
1. Chapter 1

Riddle Me This

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

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**a/n: **Hello. This is my very first Harry Potter fanfiction up here, despite being a potterhead for hears uvu This was originally all written for a friend in school, so it may have a couple of mistakes as it is not beta read or anything. I will try to update every two or three days. Leave a review or a favourite though, it really keeps me from procrastinating too much!

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**PROLOGUE**

A chilly wind blew harshly as the downpour of rain battered the windows of all nearby buildings. People were, if they were fortunate enough, inside, painfully oblivious to the unforgiving weather that raged on outside their doors. The shops were all closed, and the streetlamps had been lit a fair while ago, their light illuminating the otherwise darkened streets. Lights flickered from every nearby building and smoke billowed from the chimneys, signifying fires had been lit in fireplaces to protect against the cold.

Cheers and yells could be heard from the pubs and the ballrooms, even the churches as people prepared to celebrate the New Year. The entire town was still dressed in it's festive Christmas colours, and lights shaped like reindeer and bells hung from every nook and cranny, their light flickering behind raindrops. The town would soon quiet down as people warmed up by the fire, counting down until 1927.

A young girl, possibly the only person out, trudged along the damp road, hand clamped around her wooden wand tightly as she struggled onward. Dirt streaked her cheeks and ash covered her hands. She shouldn't have come here, she should have stayed. Yet everything would be so wrong if she had gone back. Her husband despised her, her grandfather ignored her, and her father… well, he wouldn't be best pleased that she was pregnant, lest of all with a muggle's child.

A single steamy breath lit up the air in front of her as the girl looked over her shoulder and then directly ahead once more, analysing her surroundings. All she could tell was that she was a long, long way away from her hometown. Further away than she had ever been before.

Coughing, the girl wiped her mouth with a plain white handkerchief dotted with small dots of red blood, brown hair plastered to the sides of her thin face. The poor girl couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. This place was nothing like Little Hangleton, where everybody knew everybody else. What _was _the name of this place, anyway?

Shrugging, she stopped for just a moment, leaning against the nearest wall to allow herself to catch her breath. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, the young lady lifted a hand to weakly attempt to wipe at the dirt on her face, realising how much of a wreck she must have looked like. She was exhausted; too tired to continue properly, and yet, she knew she must continue, for the sake of her unborn child. Although she didn't know the gender, in her own thoughts it was always a boy. A handsome little boy who was the spitting image of his father.

A tall, grey building caused the girl to snap out of her thoughts, mouth open in surprise as she tried to make out the words written on the rusty old sign that hung on iron gates.

"Wool's Orphanage, London," she whispered, hazel eyes flashing in the harsh moonlight. Just what exactly was this building? Of course, she knew it was where parentless children were raised, but this looked like a particularly nasty orphanage. The stony, dark painted walls rose up as high as they could possibly reach, before curving in to form a roof that mimicked that of a chapel. _Why would anybody want to send their child to live here?_

After a few moments, a tiny spark ignited in the girl's mind as she let out another cough. Perhaps she could get help here. Whilst trying to make a decision, the young lady loitered around the entrance gates, before finally pushing them open and stepping into the orphanage grounds. Scurrying up the path as fast as she possibly could, the girl politely knocked on the door. The sound of locks grinding open alerted the girl that somebody was at the other side of the door. Suddenly a face poked out. It was a woman's face, slender and stern with perfectly trimmed white hair piled atop her head and pulled into a neat little bun. "Yes?"

The girl swallowed nervously, hazel gaze flicking upward to meet the woman's. "Sorry to interrupt your erm…. Festivities…" the girl faltered as the orphanage worker gave a snort of amusement. "But I am in dire need of help,"

_Now_ the woman listened, straightening up and opening the door a little more so that she could get a better view of the girl. "You'd better come inside then, we can't talk while you're freezing to death out there,"

Acknowledging the previous statement with a nod, the girl stepped out of the cold winter night and into the warmth of the orphanage, glancing around from side to side. The entrance hall was dull and dreary – void of any emotion. Black tables and chairs had been set out and carefully arranged, presumably where the children ate.

"Now then, lassie, what's your name?"

The young girl jumped a little, truth being told she had forgotten about the other. Taking a seat in one of the dark chairs, she cleared her throat. "Once more, I'm very sorry to intrude at such a festive time. My name is Merope, Merope Gaunt. May I ask yours?"

"My name, well, you can just refer to me as , and I work here at Wool's Orphanage," Cole replied, placing her hands atop one another on her lap. Merope held her stare as the young girl patiently waited for her to go on. It wasn't a very long wait. "As what is this 'dire need of help' _for _exactly?"

Merope took a deep breath, eyes shimmering with exhaustion. Where on earth should she even begin? If there was one thing set in stone, it was that she could not, under any circumstances, reveal that she was a witch. Shaking slightly, Merope's gaze became unfocused as she began. "I… I'm going to have a child, although I am recently widowed. I am also unaware of when this child will be born, although I expect it will be soon. My family…" Merope paused for a moment. She could hardly tell that she had run away. "My family were wiped out many years ago by disease, and I was left to grow up in an orphanage not unlike this one,"

Outside the building, the rain had slowly changed into snow, white, soft flakes falling upon thousands. It was as if the weather had changed to show how Merope's burden had been lifted. Letting out a relieved sigh, Merope slumped back in the chair, Cole watching her all the while with an unwavering gaze.

"And so you came here for help," Cole concluded, a flicker of amusement crossing her features. "I do assure you, we will help all we can. We couldn't possibly leave a widowed mother out there all alone, could we?"

"Thank you so much," Merope replied steadily, unable to hide the happier tone in her voice as stood up and walked over to the doorway that presumably lead further into the orphanage. "I don't know what I could possibly do to repay you."

"Seeing you with your child will be payment enough," the orphanage worker gave a supporting smile. "I'm going to go and get the nurse to check on you and your baby. Stay right here until I get back,"

The young lady gave a tiny nod, watching as Cole left and allowing her thoughts to dirft off again. The tick tick tick of the clock was calming her, she would even call it soothing in a strange way. A remedy to her long day.

Merope soon found out that she didn't have to wait long as a few moments later Cole returned with a plump, jolly looking lady that Merope presumed must have been the orphanage's nurse. The nurse didn't speak, instead pulled out the stethoscope and pressed it gently to Merope's swollen abdomen, listening intently.

"Your child is fine," the nurse confirmed, "Although I think you are correct about it being born soon, maybe sooner than you think, actually,"

The young girl fixed her gaze on the nurse, unease almost swimming in her hazel eyes. Bad news was coming, Merope could just tell. Watching as the nurse and Cole exchanged nervous glances, Merope crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well? What is it?"

"We have a confirmed birth date,"

"Good," Merope smiled gently, glad to finally have a set birth date. "When?"

"You... well, you're nine months pregnant," the nurse said slowly, letting it sink in. She placed a hand on Merope's shoulder as the girl visibly paled. She gave a small smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder for confidence before she continued. "And your child will likely be born tonight,"

A strange silence swept over the hall as Merope finally let her inner self panic and rise to the surface. _How?_ Closing her eyes, Merope sighed and put her head in hands. Before she could stop them, words she had not thought through escaped her cracked lips.

"I... that's fine. What are you planning to do with me?" Merope inquired, tilting her head to the side as she surveyed the other two people warily.

"We'll let you stay and birth here in the orphanage," explained quietly, smiling a fake smile that didn't even reach her eyes. Holding up a hand to stop interruptions, she continued. "We couldn't cast you out again now, could we?"

"I suppose not," Merope conceded after a few moments. Biting her lip, Merope ran a hand down the side of her dress and into her pocket, reassured by the firm, wooden feel of her wand. They couldn't harm her. She could fight her way out if she needed to. It would be harder with a child, granted, but few things were impossible, and this was not one of them. Blinking a couple of times, Merope stood and took the nurse's offered hand, allowing herself to be pulled into an empty room. Room number 27.

"Stay here and I will stay with you tonight," the nurse whispered, closing and locking the door behind them. "But I have something I need to ask, so please answer truthfully'

Merope nodded, a tiny flame of fear igniting in her eyes. Although she had to admit, she was curious as to what exactly the nurse had to ask, and why on earth she thought that a lie would unfold when the question was answered.

Looking the young lady up and down, the nurse sucked in a deep breath. "You're a witch, aren't you?" she asked quietly, a strange expression crossing her eyes.

A jolt of shock echoed through Merope's body once more. A few minutes passed before she gave an answer, deciding it might be best to be truthful in this matter. "Yes, I am,"

"I thought so," the nurse murmured softly. Upon seeing Merope's confusion, she began to elaborate. "You needn't worry, m'dear, my brother was a wizard. Happy little soul he was, always prancing around and performing the most ridiculous spells. Not in front of non-magic folk, mind."

Merope found a small smile creeping onto her face as she listened to the other. The spoke of their brother with a quiet, but fierce, fondness. Unsure of whether or not to ask the next question, Merope sighed. "Where is your brother now?"

A long sigh of exhaustion came from the nurse. "Killed a year ago by the killing curse," she whispered, voice raw with grief. "Confused the muggle cops, that one did. But I knew. I knew it was the killing curse that killed him, it was plainly obvious,"

"But why? Why would anybody even want to kill your brother? Its really too bad that it had to end that way," Merope gasped, an almost horrified expression on her face as she took in the new information that had been laid down in front of her.

"Well, he was a... 'mudblood' as you folk call it," the nurse paused, twirling a bit of hair around her finger. "And that means that to some he was unfit to study or perform magic,"

Merope's face fell. Mudblood. Her family had always used that word, too. It was a horrible word used by horrible people. "That's so, so unfair,"

"Life _isn't _fair, missy,"

Another silence fell between the two. Merope grimaced and lay down. Before she knew it, she realised that she wasn't happy. Life certainly hadn't been fair to _her. _All she could hope was that life would try to be a little easier on her child.

"So there's a fair chance of your child being a little wizard, then?"

"I am hoping so," Merope grinned, gleeful to be off the topic of death and onto the topic of her own child. She just hoped the child wasn't a squib - that would bring unmerciful teasing with it. "I really do hope so. Do you know what the gender is?'

"It's definitely going to be a little boy. I also think it will be a magical child, most children with magical parents are, so I've heard,"

Merope gave a small nod, only half concentrating on what the nurse was trying to say as she let out another deep cough, which attracted the nurse's attention.

"Are you sick, dearie?"

"I don't really know,"

The nurse tapped her foot on the ground impatiently as she pulled out a stethoscope, this time pressing it just above Merope's chest. Everything was going fine until she heard the noise. Her face contorted into one of concern, one that Merope really didn't like.

"What is it?" she demanded, crossing her arms and struggling to get up as the nurse held her down. "What's wrong with me?"

The nurse gave a sigh, averting her gaze and suddenly finding the floor to be very interesting indeed. She was a nurse, and this young lady was of recently her patient. She couldn't lie. "You're very, very sick m'dear,"

Merope froze. _What?_ She sat up lightly and turned to stare out the frosted up window as if in a trance, watching the snowflakes spiral down as she whispered a small 'How sick?', although deep inside of her she already knew the answer. After all, coughing blood wasn't a good sign.

"Very, very sick," the nurse croaked, placing her hand once more on Merope's shoulder and increasing the air of truthfulness that hung around their conversation. "You have internal bleeding, and slowly but surely, your lungs are being filled with blood. You are going to die if you don't use your magic,"

"No," Merope said quietly, shocking the nurse into silence. "I won't use magic, not even to save my own life,"

"But... why ever not?!" the nurse almost screeched, lifting her hand to cover her mouth in pure shock. Surely she would raise her wand to save her own life? Wasn't that what magic was really for?

"Magic cannot make you immortal," Merope smiled sadly. Tears pricked at her eyes, although she knew that they would not fall. Lifting her hand, she wiped her eyes and sighed. Then pain echoed through her and she let out a gasp.

"It's time you had that child of yours," the nurse smiled kindly and then began work.

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Exactly three hours later, Merope coughed once more. As far as she had heard, the child was fine and was currently being cleaned up and dressed. She didn't care. All she wanted was to hold him at least once.

Her wish appeared to have been granted as moments later the nurse reappeared with a small bundle in her arms. "Here," she whispered, gently passing the newborn to his mother. Merope reached out, watching with amusement as the child took one of her fingers in his tiny hand. "I hope he turns out to look like his father,"

The nurse nodded. Now here came the hard part. She personally wished that she didn't have to be the bearer of bad news, but there was no way to hide from the truth any longer than they already had. "You are much weaker now. If my calculations are correct, you have little under an hour remaining to live,"

Merope flinched away, although she cuddled the child closer to her chest. To the nurse's surprise, the child had not cried once so far. "So I'm finally going to die," Merope whispered gently. "I suppose I knew, or at least, I guessed,"

The nurse nodded solemly, looking as if she wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Just not the place that she was at that precise moment in time. However she looked up again when Merope continued.

"If I am to die," Merope said forcefully. "Will you raise this child with love and care, here in this orphanage?"

Inside, Merope knew that she really didn't want her child to be forced to live here, she wanted him to live with his father, but that wasn't an option. At least here he would be safe.

"Yes, we will look after the child. I have to go now and get the name and birth certificate registered-"

"No!" Merope almost hissed, a strange expression in her eyes. "At least let me name him, even if it's the last thing I do,"

"It very well may be the last thing you do," the nurse paused, shaking her head and taking a piece of paper and a pen out of her pocket. "But I don't see why you wouldn't be able to name the little tyke. Go on, then. What's the name to be?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Merope said softly, brushing a hand against the baby's cheek. "Tom after his father, Marvolo after my father. As I am to die, I would like him to take his father's surname, Riddle,"

The nurse hastily wrote the name down, double checking it before carefully folding and pocketing the paper. When she looked up again, she noticed with sadness that Merope lay still. Standing, she placed a hand on her neck. No familiar pulse ran. Merope Gaunt was dead.

With a deep breath, the nurse took the small child from his dead mother's arms before pulling the sheet over Merope's still body, almost covering the death that now lingered around the room.

Exiting the room, the nurse ordered for it to be cleaned and the body to be removed and buried in the nearby graveyard, while in a castle, an extra name was added to the list of future students.

The nurse kissed the newborn on the head with a smile. "Good luck, Tom Riddle,"

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**a/n : Word Count : Close to 3,000**


	2. Chapter 2

Riddle Me This

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

**CHAPTER ONE**

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**a/n : hey there again uwu I bring you the second chapter of riddle me this. at the current rate this is going at, i'm thinking of leaving out the chapter with dumbledore's visit, simply because we've all seen that before. if you'd still like it posted, you could ask / Please note that some content in this chapter may be disturbing for some viewers. This chapter contains animal death and child abuse. You have been warned.**

_**Disclaimer**_

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters therin. I do, however, own this story and all of the characters pertaining to this story not already used in the official books. Thank you.**

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"Hey! I told you not to do that!"

"Well, there's nothing in the rulebook against it!" A young boy stuck out his tongue rudely at his opponent, waving the other's school book in the air. "So better luck next time, Riddle!"

Tom narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Glancing over in the direction of the clock, the young boy rubbed his eyes. It was officially too early for this.

"I said, give it back," Tom murmured softly in a strange tone that almost transfixed the one opposite him. "Or so help me Billy, you'll regret it,"

Billy shook his head gleefully, obviously happy to have the upper hand in this particular argument. Raising an eyebrow, the child turned, still gripping the other's book, and fled down the orphanage's hallway. Tom bolted after, a familiar anger beginning to bubble under his usually quiet and calm mask. Watching how Billy ran, Tom faltered and stopped. Why did it seem like everybody in this orphanage wanted to pick a fight with him? Of course, he knew he could win. He was _special. _

Tom gritted his teeth and paused to think it all over. Billy had no right to trample all over him like he did, none at all. Deep down, Tom _knew _that the orphanage workers wouldn't even bother to get involved. They weren't those kind of people. No, he would have to get back at Billy on his own accord.

Letting out an annoyed huff, Riddle turned and began to walk quietly back upstairs and toward the rooms. Number 24, Number 25, Number 26… Number 27. Stopping for a moment outside his room, Tom pushed the door open and walked in, shutting it with a quiet 'click' behind him. Almost immediately, Riddle stuck a hand inside his pillowcase, face scrunched up in concentration as he searched, drawing out a small pocket knife a few moments later. Running a finger cautiously along the blade, the young boy winced as he pricked his own finger, watching as a drop of blood formed and fell to the floor.

Locking the door to his room, Tom set the knife on the small table beside his bed, opening the wardrobe and removing a small box. Within the box was a variety of everyday items – his victory prizes of sorts. With a frown, Riddle sighed and replaced the box, sliding the pocket knife up his sleeve in case his pockets were searched. Then he left the room again, this time a specific destination in mind – the orphanage garden where all pets were kept.

Nobody payed much attention as Tom slipped out of the building, grey eyes gleaming and filled with hatred. They were either too busy or simply didn't care. Quiet as a mouse, Riddle made his way carefully around the back of the orphanage, being greeted with two kennels and three hutches.

Now he just had to find the right one. Hand shaking slightly, Tom walked over to the hutches, reading the name on top of each one.

_Maria Woods, Amy Song… Billy Stubbs. _The very one he happened to be looking for.

Peering into the hutch, Tom shot a small smile in the direction of the white and black rabbit that lay inside, observing him warily. Kneeling down, Riddle cautiously undid the hutch's catch, opening the door and drawing the rabbit into his arms. Reaching into his pocket, the young boy drew out a thin piece of rope. Holding the rabbit in one hand, he fastened the rope around it's neck with the other, tugging tight.

As the rabbit gave a strangled cry, Riddle covered it's mouth with his sleeve, attempting to stop any possible noises that would draw attention to him. As the rabbit fell limp, Riddle placed it in the small bag that he had brought with him, beginning the trek back up to the rooms.

Passing his own room, Tom grinned and continued onwards, finally coming to a stop just outside Room 42. A small, black name plaque proudly displayed the name 'Billy Stubbs'. The final destination of his mission. Slipping out his pocket knife, Riddle inserted it into the lock and began to fiddle with it. Billy always locked his room, so this door was one that he would have to force open. When a satisfying 'click' was heard, Riddle pushed open the door, setting the rabbit on the floor and raising a hand.

_Raise, raise, raise. Come on. _Tom willed the invisible voice in his head gently, urging him on. A strange feeling took over him as he watched the rabbit slowly lift itself off the ground, instructing it to go up further, vaguely wondering when Billy was planning to return to his room.

When the rabbit was high enough, Riddle broke the spell, watching with contempt as it swung gently from the hook on the rafters. The young boy whipped around and swept out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack to draw Billy's attention. With a small snicker, Tom grinned and wandered back to his room, but coming to a stop as he noticed another very familiar boy running back in his direction.

"Ha! I told you that unless you managed to catch up with me, you wouldn't be getting those useless books back!" A victorious looking Billy Stubbs punched Tom lightly on the shoulder, but his smile all but slipped off his face when he saw his room. "Care to explain why my door is open, Riddle?"

"Not at all," Tom shrugged, grey eyes flashing with an unknown emotion as he held his hands in the air as an act of mock submission. "How on earth would I know?"

Billy gave a small snort of amusement, making sure to knock into Tom as he passed by the boy to enter his room. Shooting a suspicious glance over his shoulder, Billy pushed open the door and walked in, shutting it behind him.

The scream came moments after.

Tom stared blankly onward as Billy stormed out of the room, lunging at him. Tom flinched a little as his attacker hit him hard, a stinging feeling left behind on his hands and face as he hit the ground. Standing up again, Riddle shoved Billy off of him, crossing his arms and shooting a glare. If only looks could kill. Billy would be in heaven by now.

In the midst of the fight, neither had noticed the orphanage's owner, , and Mrs. Cole had come up to see what the ruckus had been about and were now in the process of running over. Mrs. Wool, face a very faint shad of purple from anger, grabbed Billy by the arm, while held Tom by the wrist, twisting only slightly so there was a faint burning sensation just under his skin.

"What on earth is the meaning of this?" Wool demanded, looking from Billy's half annoyed, half upset face to Tom's emotionless one. "Fighting among brothers, what a terrible thing to do! Here at this orphanage you are a _family_, and we expect you to behave like one. _Explain _yourselves!"

"He killed Crackers!" Billy yelled, struggling to get free of the orphanage owner's vice grip and pointing an accusing finger at Riddle, who shrugged it off.

"I haven't touched your bloody rabbit. Do you not think I have anything better to do?"

"No! You killed him, and I'll get you back!"

"STOP!" yelled and almost immediately, the two arguing boys fell silent. Her steely gaze dripped over them, almost daring somebody to speak up and contradict her. "Riddle, my office. Billy, bury Crackers and then straight to bed. Now,"

Tom grimaced, rolling his eyes as Billy stormed off to unhook Crackers and go to bed. Suddenly a hand grabbed his collar. Tom's eyes widened in shock and he howled in indignation. "Hey!"

But unfortunately, no screaming, yelling or kicking could apparently get him out of this one, Riddle reflected as he was dragged unceremoniously into 's office.

The office was very plain, but looked more like a 'torture room' to the boy. Sometimes you could hear screams of the naughty children coming from this room if you lay down in bed and listened really hard. It's grey walls were lines with shelves. Trophies that Cole had won from various events sat on those shelves, as well as a long cord of rope that Tom recognised as a whip.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Riddle, but I don't like it," started, but she only managed to get in a few words before she was interrupted.

"I don't know what happened to Billy's damn rabbit!" Tom yelled, stepping forward as a strange, unearthly glint lit up his eyes. "I thought I told you that!"

In the corner, the orphanage's nurse continued packing away her medicine supplies as she had been treating 's fever earlier. Stealing a brief glance at the boy, she realised that she still couldn't make out his mother in him, Merope had got her dying wish. Tom's hair was pitch black, and he nearly always combed it neatly, allowing some of it to hang down and frame the sides of his pale face. His eyes were a dark, dark grey, and seemed to have a few flecks of amber and a reddish tint when the sunlight hit them. He certainly didn't share the same views as his mother had, that was for sure. Riddle often found himself in the middle of arguments and fights. A week ago, he somehow managed to smash a couple of windows, but had never managed to be caught. He was obviously too clever for that.

placed a sharp slap on Tom's cheek, but the child didn't move. Was he going to be punished? "Don't you dare give me such a shock, Riddle, or you'll regret the very day you were born!"

"_No_ Cole," Tom whispered, grey eyes flashing dangerously. "No, I think it shall be _you _who will regret being born,"

As the words hung in the air with an icy silence, Riddle turned around and walked out slamming the door with a bang of finality.


End file.
